2、Cat（中） ...
-
11.
I once said I don’t like cats.
12.
The cat looks up at me, with its vertical pupils. Those sparkling eyes have the shape of almond and a color between yellow and green.
I stare back and try to bury my affection deep under calmness. If there is still anything to cherish in this shelter, the shelter owned by him and I, it’s the cat. His cat. There is some confusing expression in its eyes, so tricky, so honest, as if it has just told me a riddle and is waiting for my answer.
WHAT A SIMPLE RIDDLE.
13.
I don’t know what the cat is waiting for. I’m leaving soon and nothing more shall it expect from me. It is not my fault at all, but why do I have a sense of uneasiness The so-called guilty or else. If anyone should be shameful, it’s him. He had promise to make a line break with the filthy past and lead a new life. Then he did and then he failed. He was unable to give even an excuse for his absent hours.
AND THE ANSWER IS SO OBVIOUS, ISN’T IT
Wetness is welling up in my eyes.
Hey, who cares It must be because of the sunshine reflected by the outside snow. The strong light burns my eyes. That’s it.
So I close my painful eyes and feel dizzy. Flashes of memories are coming in pieces, none of which in connection with him, to my release. To my disappointment.
IT’S AN OLD TALE BEGUN WITH A QUITE BORING OPENING.
LONG LONG AGO THERE WAS A PRINCE…
I open my eyes. What am I thinking about
Those tales are merely for kids, silly and childish. I never believe fairytales, even when I was a child. So ironic.
ALL TALES ARE RUBBISH, WORTHLESS RUBISH.
No, no, I am wasting time.
14.
The pretty bar owner smiles in a graceful way when handing me my Martini, despite my dislike for cats. Every Saturday night, I order the same drink and take the same seat at that dim corner at the bar.
I take it as a privilege. I take it for granted.
So it is not difficult to understand my being unpleasant when I saw my seat was occupied. My seat.
I stood there, not knowing what to say. It is a provocation to vanity.
That man was a young and beautiful creature, who had soft black hair, pointed chin bone and tender thin lips shining with cherry lip-gloss. It was a summer night and he was in a filmy shirt under which the outline of his slim waist was almost visible. He seated himself idly in the armchair, holding a cup of cocktail.
The liquid in his goblet had the color of rainbow.
“I don't mind your sitting at this table.” He looked at me with pure olive green eyes.
“But I do.”
I picked the glass goblet from his elegant pearl fingers and swallowed all his alcohol.
AT A BALL, HE MET A BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS.
I wonder how the story will go on if it happened to be a prince. There has never been a fairy tale describing the romance took place in a pub whose decorations are all made of glass.
THE TALE TAUGHT ME NOTING.
15.
That night, we nearly got drunk. I eventually took back my seat, while in exchange, he sat on my lap. The pub street of city N was becoming peaceful and fresh as the dawn approaching. The bar owner was walking around, collecting empty glasses, his two cats following at his ankles. His long silver hair shone faintly in the distance.
I felt weary and sleepy. The man in my embrace slowly closed his arms around my waist and propped his chin softly against my clavicle. Then his lips.
How dare him! He messed up my shirt!
I pushed him back, with anger and astonishment. But he just leaned forward with the sincere olive green eyes looking deeply in mine. He smiled in a devilish charm.
“Sorry for forgetting myself, but I will make it up.”
He was leaning closer and closer. Then before I could react, he slid down and ran out of my sight through the glass front door.
I stared vacantly at his cherry print on the edge of his goblet, feeling full but empty in the dawn.
This time, he messed up my lips.
16.
I am wasting time. No, no, I must go.
I step forward to get my suitcase. The cat stands up and looks at me with deep sorrow. I went on in ignorance of it.
Haven’t I made it clear enough
I hate cats so go aside and never border me again, OK
NEVER.
17.
“Quoth the raven, nevermore.”
It’s my favorite poem but I forget the title.
18.
AND AFTERWARDS
I went to the bar every Saturday night. I ordered Martini. I took my seat in the cozy corner. I smiled back when I got my drink.
Everything just switched back to normal. My busy and respected life as an upper-class singleton in city N seemed has never never been interrupted at all.
And he just vanished, vanished in the dawn outside the glass door.
IT WAS SAID THAT THE PRINCESS WAS CAPTURED BY DEVIL.
THE PRINCE SACRIFIED ALMOST EVERYTHIHG TO RESCUSE THE BELOVED ONE.
So what
I sent the shirt to laundry.
19.
I pause. I am curious about what it wants. The cat moves in a silent but cute pace. Twisting waist and soft paws. Incomparable grace. It comes back to my ankles carefully and sits down as if I haven’t taken the step toward my suitcase. And toward the door.
The cat seems to take great efforts to keep its eye connect with me, but this time, shivers uncontrollably. So why is it shivering
Not because of missing, no. I’ve always been too critical to cats and doubtful about their faith. Given more time, maybe, I will be gradually moved and change my mind. Who knows It is not a suitable point to talk about future, though. What’s more, it is his cat, not mine. So it doesn’t matter much whether I am in this home or not.
I look away. Countless shining dust is floating and dancing in the air, in the pale golden sunshine. Outside, everything has taken on a new look after the snow. The world looks fragile and innocent under that white mask since all the sins, all the spots are covered with a clean surface.
It’s cold. Yes, the cat just comes for warmth. I almost forget that.
20.
All it needs is some warmth, and nothing more.
So I take off my gloves, squat down and stroke its fury back, in order to coax it away.
My fingers are long and thin. They are born for playing music.
I touch its arched back, firstly with my finger tips and then my palm. So smooth and so thin. It will surely provoke one’s instinct of protecting. Cats are born to be pampered.
The feeling suddenly remind me of his naked back in the hazy light in the room. I miss those nights with him curling in my arms. I miss the tactile color and the pale touch of his body.
And even his lips- they taste so sweet.
So warm are they-he and his cat. But wait. Who is the one to be warmed
I’m frozen by shock.
The cat stops shivering and rubs its thin chin against my stiff knuckles, as if being thankful of my pampering.
As pale as marble, and as cold. My fingers.
All it gives is warmth, and nothing more.
作者有话说
第2章 Cat（中）
